


Lorne's Keeper

by melagan



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-27
Updated: 2009-08-27
Packaged: 2018-09-24 04:40:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9702575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melagan/pseuds/melagan
Summary: Lorne's Diner is one of those unexplored turns in the Sensual Magic 'verse where John is a Vampire and Rodney is something else entirely.Lorne runs a Vamp-friendly Diner in the Sensual Magic 'verse. This is the story of how Lorne and Parrish meet.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neevebrody](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neevebrody/gifts).



> You don't need any background to read the story but if you're curious you can read more about it [here](http://archiveofourown.org/series/4156).
> 
> Beta: (and title) courtesy of Mischief. This is a post of an older work and my Christmas present to Neevebrody.

That was it, then. The last customer of the night had just left with a stealthy swirl of his leather coat and a sardonically arched eyebrow. With no one to see, Lorne didn’t bother to hide his grin as he wiped down the table. Vamps—they all loved their dramatic exits. 

What on earth? The clatter in the kitchen replaced his smile with panic and Lorne ran to investigate. What had his new friend gotten into now?

Mashed potatoes. He should have known. The aluminum lid lay on the floor, and his rather oddly acquired helper hugged the cold pan of leftover mashed potatoes to his chest. The potatoes were smeared all over his mouth and fingers. Now that Lorne knew this was a just a little mess to clean up, not a catastrophe, he took a moment to stare in blatant fascination. 

The full apron Lorne had given him to wear was designed to cover a man from chest to knee but now it was hanging precariously off his bare hips. Lorne supposed the wings had something to do with that. There had been no good way to tie the apron on. Maybe after they completely healed he could find a way, but Lorne had been too afraid of doing more damage. Clothing had been vehemently resisted, leaving the apron as Lorne’s last option. At the moment, said apron was covering damn little. 

Not much surprised Lorne anymore. Sometimes he thought the Diner had been grossly misnamed and should have been called Strange Encounters R Us. Not everyone came here for the burgers and fries. The Diner was neutral territory to all kinds of creatures. Some needed a refuge for an hour or two, some were looking to hook up, and others were just avoiding the sun. But nothing had prepared him for his first encounter with the Tinsdale two nights ago. Just thinking about it still gave him goose-bumps.

***

The noises had woken him, the clatter of pot and pans loud enough to hear from his tiny cot in the backroom. Lorne crept into the kitchen, barefoot, pajama clad, and gripping his probably useless baseball bat. Nothing should be able to get into the Diner once the door was locked. His domain was supposed to be protected, damn it. It was a gentleman’s agreement with the night creatures, one that had been honored for years. Lorne hadn’t even known it could be broken. 

Then he’d gotten his first sight of the intruder and it stopped him dead in his tracks. He barely knew what to stare at first. Six feet of naked male was trying to crouch down and hide in a three-foot cupboard space. It was pretty obvious the creature was starving as wide, innocent eyes blinked back at him over a big spoonful of mashed potatoes. 

However, it was the blood speckled, dove gray feathers and wings that looked bent that compelled Lorne to throw caution aside. This creature was scared, hurt, and following an instinct that led him to the Diner. Of course, the Diner’s doors had let him in. 

Brushing the memory aside, Lorne put on his gentlest smile and spoke as softly as he knew how.

“Hey, there. It’s okay. You still hungry? C’mon sit down and I’ll make you some French fries. You like potatoes, right? Trust me, you’re going to love these.”

“Lor..nne.”

“That’s right, buddy, my name is Lorne. That’s good. That’s good, you’re talking now. It’s gonna make it a lot easier to figure out what you need. You know, I’ve been checking you out. Not like that.” Lorne flushed. “I mean, I have... um. I just. Look, there’s these old Diner records, accounts and journals and things. I’ve been researching your kind. I thought if I could learn more, I might find a better way to help you with your injuries. I haven’t found out that much yet, but I know what your kind is called now. Tinsdales. You’re pretty damn rare around here and you don’t really belong in this dimension.” Lorne nodded at the wings. “According to the records, Tinsdales are the only Traditional Keepers left. Have you got a name? Something I can call you?”

Nodding back, as if he understood every word perfectly, he answered, “Parrish. I am Parrish.” Then in a move that could only be described as trusting, Parrish extended one bruised wing out to Lorne, brushing his wingtip gently against Lorne’s cheek. “I do belong. I belong here now. With you.”

***

Sleep was hard to come by. 'I belong here now. With you.' The words circled in his brain. Lorne sighed. Parrish was lying next to him on the floor. Lorne had tossed down every spare blanket plus an old sleeping bag, so faded the original color was anyone’s guess. It was soft though and Parrish seemed happy with it. The floor had been the only place Lorne could think of that would give the Tinsdale room to stretch out his wings. They still didn’t look right, but at least they were clean of blood.

‘I belong here now. With you.’ Lorne punched his pillow. He knew that was impossible; the Diner didn’t like change. It didn’t even allow Lorne to…it just, it couldn’t happen. 

Lorne had tried to change the tablecloths once. While there was nothing wrong with the red and white checkerboard pattern, he’d been feeling inspired and stripped them all off, replacing them with blue and silver striped linens. Bad mistake. He’d gotten up in the morning to find the windows wide open. Leaves and debris covered the floor and tables and some sort of bird had left droppings and claw marks, meticulously shredding every table cover. Lorne wasn’t stupid; it was a sign all right. Those windows hadn’t been designed to open. He put the original tablecloths back and the incident was never repeated. 

But there’d been other omens. Lorne loved the Diner, he really did. Working here Lorne heard and saw things he never imagined were possible. It helped people, just by being a place of refuge. No, Lorne would never regret the things he’d given up, but the loneliness got to him sometimes. 

He rolled over on his side and stared down at the sleeping, very naked man. Lorne could think of him as a man despite the wings. In fact, it was damn impossible not to notice Parrish was male. His cock was generously proportioned, even taking his six foot height into consideration, and Lorne wondered what it would look like hard. It was a little weird seeing soft down where he’d expect to see pubic hair and Lorne wondered what it would feel like. 

It wasn’t like he’d ever find out. Lorne had learned his lesson years ago. He could look all he wanted, he could think about possibilities, but he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. The few times he’d tried to date anyone, the Diner had disapproved and it made the tablecloth incident look like a Halloween prank. 

The young man’s name was Chuck. He was cute, Lorne’s age, and interested. It was just going to be popcorn and a movie. Maybe a little kissing if he got lucky. He never got to the movies. Every thing he tried to cook had scorch marks. The kitchen stank of smoke and all of the milk curdled. Lorne got the message. 

He didn’t try again for some time, but after awhile he talked himself into believing that his problem was because Chuck hadn’t been a girl. Maybe the Diner had freaky gender issues. 

Her name was Cassandra. She was pretty and she smelled, well, nice. Plus, she smiled at him every time she came into the diner. Lorne worked up the nerve to ask her out and barely breathed waiting for her to say yes.

It was an even worst disaster. Lorne shuddered. He was still vacuuming up water in his dreams. 

He lay back and threw an arm up over his eyes. No point in what ifs. Hell, for all he knew Parrish wasn’t, couldn’t, be interested in him like that. He’d be careful. Not get too close, and wouldn’t touch. Besides, after all this time, it wasn’t like he expected to find someone to share this oddity in his life. Still, even if dating was out of the question, if Parrish was interested in staying, it would be damn nice to have a friend. 

***

Lorne dumped the crisp fries onto the plate and tried not to feel smug, but it was hard. The smell of sliced potatoes in hot cooking grease always made Parrish’s feathers perk up, and the Tinsdale never failed to look at Lorne with something akin to adoration. It was mutual: Lorne had a hard time taking his eyes off Parrish. He was gorgeous, even if you didn’t factor in the wings, and when you did, well, he was easily the most fascinating creature Lorne had ever seen. 

Lorne watched him, probably more than he should, but he had to watch out for him, didn’t he? After all, the wings were still wounded. Part of Lorne was sure these moments, and Parrish, would be gone for good once the Tinsdale was completely healed. What did it hurt to enjoy what he could, while he could?

Lorne had to grin then because, from day one, Parrish had taken over the kitchen sink duties with gusto. A job Lorne wasn’t fond of at all and was glad to hand over. Lorne thought it was because Parrish seemed fascinated with the soap bubbles, or maybe it was because he enjoyed ‘accidentally’ splashing Lorne whenever he could catch Lorne off guard. Lorne had been shocked speechless the first time it happened — until he'd noticed the Tinsdale’s wings shaking with laughter. After that, everything got more comfortable between them. 

Maybe too comfortable. Lorne paused, mid fry-bite, finding it suddenly impossible to swallow. He could still feel it where Parrish had spread one big hand over his chest; the heat from the Tinsdale's palm sinking into his skin through his shirt. Parrish hadn’t had any problem at all with gently but firmly moving Lorne aside to take his place at the sink. 

Seeing Parrish eat was one more thing Lorne could put on his list of things he’d miss. The Tinsdale didn’t seem to do anything half-way, including the way his eyelashes fluttered in bliss when Lorne gave into Parrish’s preference for eating the fries directly from Lorne’s fingers. If he’d been a human creature, Lorne would have sworn he was flirting with him. 

A long buried idea rose to mind and he suddenly knew there was one thing he could do, one way he could have Parrish. He had everything he needed in the storeroom to create a mural. Yes, he’d paint the Tinsdale, make it worthy in a piece larger than life that would stand as long as the walls of the Diner stood.

He already had a dozen half-finished sketches of smudged charcoal and sweeping lines. The Tinsdale’s wings were still healing but Lorne couldn’t bear it, couldn’t sketch them like that, so he drew them whole and strong. Drew them the way they should be as he labored to try and capture the wild freedom of wings on paper.

It would be a mural of fierceness and beauty. He’d use a palette knife for some of the work, creating layers with broad strokes, and then he’d thin the oil, and use his finest brushwork to bring the tiniest of feathers to life. If he did it right, he’d have a piece worthy to remember the Tinsdale by, something to always remind him of that delicate brush of feathers against his cheek. 

***

There were moments, like this, where Steven still couldn’t believe his good fortune. Call it luck, call it destiny, but whatever you chose to call it, grace walked by his undead side and her name was Elizabeth. 

Steven rubbed his thumb over the mother-of-pearl inlay on the antique jewel box. Valentine's Day was fast approaching and he’d spent weeks trying to find the perfect gift. This was almost worthy. Zelenka claimed it had been carved from the heartwood of a Yew tree, itself an ancient symbol of death and rebirth, and extremely appropriate for a vampire newly bonded to a Potential. He had practically shoved the jewel box into Caldwell’s hands and pushed him out the door of the shop. 

Caldwell was still bemused by the shopkeeper’s actions but now, as he turned the box over carefully in his hands, he realized Radek was right. Elizabeth would understand perfectly what he was trying to say. 

He sighed; he had a fair bit of making up to do. Their relationship was amazing and, not to put too fine a point on it, challenging. Challenging in a way Caldwell hadn’t had to deal with in centuries. He was a respected vampire in the undead community and he expected that his wishes would be obeyed. That was how it was supposed to be: he expressed a desire and his underlings would see that it happened. With the notable exception of the Libertine, that’s how things got done. 

Elizabeth somehow negated all that. She met him head on with her opposing arguments. He’d never tell her, but Steven could admit to finding their ‘confrontations’ exhilarating. Elizabeth was truly magnificent when fired up. 

Their latest bone of contention was the damn Mirror. He hated it. Hated it with an irrational fear that one day his Potential would be drawn back in and he’d lose her again. Elizabeth had fought him tooth and nail on that one but, as far as Steven was concerned, she was too damn worried about the others for her own good. She kept insisting that they had to keep the Mirror in case they could help other lost Potentials find their way home. 

He had to admit she had a valid point. Considering the rarity of Potentials, they couldn’t take the risk of damning a single one to possible banishment. Steven shuddered; he’d come too close to never connecting to his own. 

Add to that Ronon and Teyla throwing their full support behind Elizabeth, and Steven had thrown his hands up and counted it a lost cause. Besides, if the vampire community ever thought their old ‘Colonel’ even considered treating a Potential as less then the precious creatures they were, he could easily find himself embroiled in a vampire war. He’d gained one small concession, though: he’d gotten the Mirror moved from the library to one of the turret attic rooms. The room was small but at least it had a door he could lock. 

That had seemed a good idea at the time. It had only taken him a couple of hours to realize all Elizabeth had to do was smile at him and he’d hand the key right over to her.  
He grinned wryly, thinking he’d had the gall to call the Libertine ‘potential-whipped’. He knew oh-so-much better now. 

Suddenly, Steven couldn’t wait to see the expression on his Potential's face when he gave her his gift. He bounced on his toes, then made a mental note to destroy any minions that might have witnessed that.

It was a light step indeed that carried Caldwell to the library to bring Elizabeth her present. 

***

Elizabeth sat at the writing desk, poring over all the past Potential research done by McKay as she made quick but meticulous progress entering the data into her laptop. Rodney had shown her what he needed, while looking at her like he wasn’t sure if she was capable of understanding. Elizabeth had listened patiently, albeit with one delicately arched eyebrow. Oh, yes, when she was done cataloguing everything, not even Dr. Rodney McKay would find fault with her results. 

It was wonderful to be back and good to be doing something truly useful. She was grateful to Rodney for recognizing that need without asking too many questions and for giving her a task she could sink her teeth into, relatively speaking. 

As for being back with Steven — oh, how very much she'd missed the comfort of his arms while she was adrift in time. He steadied her, kept her grounded now as much as ever and even though weeks had passed since her rescue, it was hard not to reach out and touch him every five minutes. His fears of losing her were foolish. She would fight with all of her considerable power before she would be parted from her vampire ever again. 

She looked down at her work. Damn she'd done it again. She'd written _Elizabeth Caldwell_ in the margins of the old manuscript she'd been translating. She'd be concerned about McKay's reaction to her desecration but she'd seen some of his own distinctive scrawling in her research. Yes, the words _Rodney Sheppard_ and _John McKay_ marred more than a few of the hundred-year-old pages. It was quite obvious she wasn't the only Potential a bit besotted with their mate. 

Speaking of mates, Steven stood in the doorway, a little boy's grin on his face with no trace of the dignified old vamp in his bearing. While she was utterly charmed by his demeanor, still Elizabeth had to be honest with herself. She rather liked the dark, dangerous persona of the Colonel. Caldwell was simply being true to his vamp nature, something she would never try to change, and frankly, she found it deeply virile. Suddenly warm, Elizabeth undid the top two buttons on her shirt.

Toying with a third, she had to bless Teyla for helping her select contemporary garb. Steven might have a romantic fondness for the long, full, skirts, but they were impractical and a bit ridiculous. She'd adopted some of Teyla's style and was quite happy with the results. She felt the dark trousers and tailored blouse gave her sleek look, and, at least according to Steven, clung to all the right curves. She flushed. The first time he’d seen her wearing her new attire, he’d turned wildly possessive. Quite satisfyingly so. 

“Steven, you're up to something again, I see. Or should I just ask if you're happy to see me?”

“I am always filled with delight to see you, mine own.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Oh my, you are being particularly old world charming today. Now, I’m even more convinced you’re up to something. It wouldn’t have anything to do with that object you’re trying to hide behind your back, would it?”

After stepping close enough to wind one of Elizabeth's loose curls around his finger, Steven answered, “I never could pull anything without you knowing about it, but I think this time I may have managed to surprise you. I bought you a little something for Valentine's Day.” 

Elizabeth leaned closer, her head brushing against his shoulder. She paused, taking a moment to savor the scent of her Colonel’s dark strength, and then she took the box from him. Holding it carefully in her hands, Elizabeth ran her fingers over every inch of the intricately carved jewel box. In truth, she would have handled a common cardboard shoebox just as delicately as long as it was a gift from her vampire. 

“Where did you get this? It’s an incredible piece of artwork, and if my senses are any judge, there’s a lot more to this than it appears.”

Cautiously Elizabeth pressed down gently on the inlay. She was rewarded with a soft ‘click’ and a hidden tray slid out from the bottom of the box. Folded pages of delicate rice paper lay nestled within. Removing them with care, she brought them over to the desk for a better look. Steven hovered at her back, ever protective even though she assured him the only threat here was the likelihood the dry, brittle, pages would crumble before she had a chance to translate them. 

“My god. Steven these are pages from the diary of a Traditional Keeper.” 

“A Tinsdale wrote this? I know these creatures, Elizabeth. They make their homes in the time corridors. They’re fierce fighters but only when protecting their own.”

“Yes, one befriended me during the lost years when I was adrift in time.” Elizabeth paused, letting herself be comforted by Steven’s arms as he wrapped them around her, holding her close. “A more honest or loyal companion you couldn’t find, and he seemed heartbroken when I wouldn’t allow him to come through the Mirror with me. I wasn’t sure what kind of welcome he would find, or if there would be any way to get him home.”

“You made the right choice, my dear. Tinsdales are community creatures. They live in extended family units and, as far as I know, they only travel to this dimension in pairs. Wise, considering how dangerous it is to traverse time without someone to watch your back.”

“This is fascinating. It’s a recount of the Tinsdales and their connection to the way-stations in this dimension. They _designed_ these places, Steven. According to this, they created incarnations of the Diner, and places like it all over the world, so that vampires, humans and other creatures could find sanctuary without judgment. I had no idea.”

“I don’t think it’s a coincidence that this box just happened to come our way now. One of these days I’m going to get Radek Zelenka alone and shake the information out of him. He knows far more than he’s telling. The only reason I haven’t yet is he’s my only resource for inter-dimensional data. I can’t afford to suck him dry.” 

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. 

Steven muttered back, “Sorry. Blame the Libertine. He likes my puns. Don’t worry, Radek is safe from me.” Steven pressed his mouth to Elizabeth’s neck, allowing his fangs to graze lightly there. “I can never repay him for what he’s given back to me, dear heart.”

Flushed, and breathless from the attention, Elizabeth still managed one last question. “Should we warn Lorne of the possibility of a Keeper coming his way?”

“It can wait. If a Keeper comes to the Diner, there’s only one outcome, and Lorne won’t have much say in it. Hell, it won’t just take ownership of the Diner, it will take ownership of Lorne too. He’ll never be rid of it.” 

Elizabeth worked her fingertips under Steven’s waistcoat in a slow, hot, trail of intent, and arched her neck for better access. “Steven? Shut up, now.”

***

Lorne sank deeper into his dream. Softness surrounded him and the scent of green like springtime filled his senses. He dreamed that, if he could just listen closely enough to the strange melody teasing his ears, it would turn into words he could understand. Lorne was wrapped in a sense of peace, of comfort, and a slow hum of sensuality moved through him. If heaven were feather soft clouds then surely that’s where he must be. He curled his fingers into the soft blanket surrounding him, while a gentle urge for more of this sensation teased his subconscious. 

But all dreams end and the Diner was prodding him, even in dreamscape. Customers were on their way, for either a meal or a refuge, and the Diner wanted Lorne up and ready for them. Lorne sighed and let morning ease him into wakefulness. 

Reluctant to move and disturb this bliss, Lorne finally opened his eyes and found himself gazing straight into the eyes of his new friend. Some time during the night, Parrish had given up his place on the floor and climbed onto the bed with Lorne, snuggling up like he belonged there. 

This was no dream blanket Lorne had his fingers buried in, it was the Tinsdale's wings. Arching feathers covered the two of them from head to toe like a shelter. Lorne held his breath and forced his fingers to give up their grip. It was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. 

Big, wide eyes blinked at him and Parrish smiled. “Lorne. Are you getting up now? I rather like sleeping with you. You make a much more pleasant mattress than my nest of blankets. No, I don’t think the floor is going to do at all anymore, this is much better. Did you know you have fascinating eyelashes for a human? I should compare them to a pavilion of butterfly wings the way they flutter when you are dreaming. Was it a good dream? Your ancient Greeks gave ‘butterfly’ the definition of soul. It quite suits you. Can I touch them?”

Lorne groaned. As Parrish healed, his tendency to talk about anything and everything increased as well. A chatty Tinsdale, practically sitting in his lap, naked - because heaven forbid he should take on the modern convention of wearing pajamas - was more than Lorne could handle. He clapped a hand over Parrish’s mouth to shut him up. It might have worked, but Parrish didn’t stop; instead his mouth and tongue moved against Lorne’s palm in ways that were damned suggestive. 

Unable to keep his body from reacting to so much sensual input, Lorne’s hips jerked up, cock seeking anyplace on the Tinsdale it could rub against. Mortified at his body’s lack of control and clutching the sheet to him, Lorne rolled out from under Parrish and ran to the bathroom. 

Lorne slammed the bathroom door shut behind him. He bit his lip, trying to be quiet but couldn’t stop a low moan as his pajama bottoms dropped to his ankles and he could finally get his hand on his eager cock. This would have to be quick and rough and quiet. He knew the Tinsdale had followed him and was standing on the other side of the door. He could hear the rustle of wings against the door frame. 

Lorne had no intention of explaining the human need for sexual relief when a man has been teased beyond his limits, because whether Parrish knew it or not, the Tinsdale was a feast for the senses. It wasn’t just the wings. It was his smile and his quirky sense of humor. It was his generous spirit and his silly fondness for potatoes... and, crap, he had to admit he just might have fallen in love. 

It didn’t help knowing that Parrish was so close; to know if they weren’t separated by a door Lorne could reach out and touch him. He wanted to do that so badly, wanted to feel those feathers against his skin again, to run his fingers over Parrish’s jaw, and pull him in for a gentle kiss. 

Just thinking about it made his cock pulse, demanding attention, and Lorne tightened his grip, fighting not to lose control in the next 20 seconds because there was quick, and then there was just plain embarrassing. He might have managed not to shoot all over his fist with the first stroke but it was too damn late for that when he heard the Tinsdale growl his name.

***

Parrish was not happy. Lorne had run from him and locked himself behind a closed door. Parrish could hear the slide of his hand on his skin, and smelled his release but he’d been denied the chance to share passion. He crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes in determination. This turn of events simply would not do. It was obvious the Diner had done its work too well while it made Lorne wait for his other-spirit-half.  
Parrish had tried to get here sooner, but Elizabeth had needed him and he couldn’t leave her alone to fend for herself. She seemed so bereft without her Colonel and his heart had gone out to her. He’d been grateful that she had been rescued but distraught when he hadn’t been allowed to come through the Mirror with her. He knew Lorne was waiting, even if his betrothed had no idea that Parrish was trying to get to him. He did the only thing he could. He found another way. 

Without a time pilot like the Libertine to guide him, it was a far more dangerous undertaking. He’d had to travel alone on his mating journey, and he’d known the risks, but he had to get to Lorne before the changes started. 

Traveling through the spiral realms to get to this dimension and to his rightful ownership had taken its toll. Parrish had stayed to the safer corridors when he could, and crossed quickly through the more dangerous Distorted realms when he’d had no other choice. Even so, a pack of Rovels had cornered him. They were hideous things, rat-like and clawed with vestigial wings like some demon cousin. They traveled in groups looking for prey to play with and, when they tired of their sport, dragged the carcass off to their den for the young to chew on. A single Rovel was no threat to a Tinsdale, but a pack of them could strip one to its bones in twenty minutes. Parrish had been lucky to get away without having both wings stripped off his body. It had been a near thing. 

He could hear Lorne in the kitchen now, rattling pots and pans and trying to pretend nothing had happened between them. Parrish grabbed his apron and tied it on, ready to push his presence into Lorne’s space as much as he had to in order get his stubborn human to bow to the inevitable. 

Tapping his chin, Parrish glared at the Diner walls. They’d have to serve the customers first but, once they were gone, the Diner _would_ cooperate. There would be candlelight and soft music and no interference. If his human darling needed to be wooed by seduction, then he darn well would be wooed. 

***

Lorne stayed in the kitchen and concentrated on the prep work. It was safer than looking at the Tinsdale right now. He’d washed the potatoes until they’d gleamed in their skins, the hamburger patties were ready to toss on the grill, and now, he meticulously sliced the tomato and onions. Controlling the rhythm of the knife in his hands was soothing and it almost kept his panic at bay. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Parrish, and damn it, he wasn’t going to look. 

The Tinsdale was, well not exactly fluttering, but it was a close thing. Lorne could have sworn he was chattering at the Diner but in a voice too low for him to make out a single word. At least Parrish had put on some pants. With the apron covering his front and the pants covering his other attributes he looked, well he still looked otherworldly. There was no hiding the wings from the customers. At least he could help serve the inhuman clientele without being cited for indecent exposure. They’d take it in stride as long as Parrish didn’t talk their ears off or drop feathers in their soup. Lorne sighed. He really hated the pants. 

What in hell? Lorne almost sliced the end of his thumb off as Barry White suddenly started playing in stereo. As far as Lorne knew, the Diner didn’t even have speakers let alone a surround sound system but there was no ignoring the strains of _Can’t Get Enough Of Your Love Baby_ as it filled the kitchen. Lorne raised his eyes and turned -- to stare straight into a pair of wide-eyed and hopeful Tinsdale baby blues.

Evan Lorne knew he was in serious trouble when he realized he thought Parrish’s geeky thumbs-up was cute. 

It was a relief when his customers finally came through the door. Lorne took a quick peek around the corner. No humans, just the Libertine and his Potential. Thank goodness. Parrish could go out and take their order while he got the damned music turned off. 

He pulled the apple pie from the oven to cool. It was always a toss up if McKay would ask for apple or chocolate cream but Evan figured apple was the safest route. One thing he’d learned lately, chocolate cream anything and feathers was just asking for trouble. 

***

“See? Was I right? Of course I was.” Rodney waved a hand in the direction of their new waiter. “Caldwell said there was a chance of a Tinsdale in the area. Where else would it go but the Diner?”

“Wow.” John paused to stare. I don’t remember the Tinsdales being quite this well endowed with wings.”

“It is impressive isn’t it? He must be on a mating quest. Oh.” Rodney’s eyes grew wider. “That means Lorne...”

“What’s your name?” John interrupted. 

“The name I go by is Parrish. And yes, I am on my mating journey.” Parrish leaned forward and lowered his voice. Lorne is my betrothed and he’s being very stubborn. Are all humans this difficult?”

John glanced over at Rodney and then back to the Tinsdale. “Yes.”

“Sadly, I had to travel alone to get here. It was quite the journey. I’ve never traveled that far by myself before.” 

“Wait a minute,” Rodney interrupted. “You don’t happen to know a woman by the name of Elizabeth, do you?” 

“The dark haired Potential seeking her mate? Yes, it was an honor to befriend her even if it meant my kith had to move on without me.”

“If you knew you were coming here anyway, why not just come through the mirror’s portal with them when Ronon and Teyla brought her through?” John asked.

“I wished to, Libertine, but my request was denied.” Parrish shrugged. “It may have been for the best. My sole travel has proven me even more worthy to claim my mate.” 

Parrish looked at them both with a sheepish grin as his wings fluffed in involuntary reaction to the word ‘claim’. He was getting used to it. It was happening more frequently now that his wings were healed. 

“Lorne,” Rodney yelled. “Get out here so John and I can congratulate the two of you. And bring more coffee!”

Evan came out of the kitchen, requested coffee pot in hand, and tried not to let on that his normal calm was shot all to hell. He knew it was a wasted effort, knew the vampire could smell the nervousness, but he had to try to maintain some dignity. That pretense only lasted as long as Rodney’s next words. 

“So, Lorne. Have your mating fangs grown in yet?”

Lorne blanched. How had the Potential known? He hadn’t said a word to anybody and had been hoping like hell he wouldn’t have to. He'd hoped the lengthening eyeteeth he could feel growing in would just go away if he ignored them long enough. He leaned back against Parrish, instinctively seeking comfort. The Tinsdale stood at his back, strong fingers gripping his shoulders, holding on to him and lending Lorne his silent support. 

“Soon now I think,” answered Parrish. Fortunately, I got here in time. It wouldn’t do for Evan to be tempted to bite someone else. No, that wouldn’t do at all. He belongs to me.”

Rodney nodded. “I almost envy you. I remember my first time. I know how it can seem extreme, and even scary,” he glanced at John with a little smile, “but it’s worth it.”

John reached over and curled his fingers with Rodney’s. “Yeah.” John said; his expression softened as he looked at his Potential. “Don’t worry about it too much, it’s probably only temporary. You should take advantage of it while you can. Hey, if you can’t take biting advice from a vamp, whose advice can you sink your teeth into?”

With a strangled gasp, Lorne bolted into the kitchen. The Tinsdale's words echoed in his ears, _he belongs to me_. How in hell was he supposed to deal with that? Hot, flushed, and yes he could admit it, overwhelmed, Lorne leaned back against the stainless steel refrigerator. Knees weak, he slowly slid to the floor, pressed a heated cheek against its cool exterior, and tried desperately to rein in his panic. 

There was weird and then there was this. If Lorne already belonged to the Diner, which he could admit he did, and then the Tinsdale laid claim to him, which was apparently exactly where their relationship was going, did this mean he was involved in some kind of multidimensional ménage a trois? God, it made his head hurt to just to think about it. Lorne buried his face in his hands. He’d been waiting to belong to someone his whole life; he just had no idea it was going to be like this. 

He needed to get his calm back and just deal with it. In apparent agreement, there was a quiet “whirr-chink" and the refrigerator dropped a handful of ice from its dispenser straight into Lorne’s lap. Even while swearing under his breath, Evan had to admit the Diner always did have a practical way of handling things. He could have used a little less cold and wet though. 

Parrish ducked into the kitchen. “My goodness Evan, what are doing on the floor? You really should get up, that ice is going to melt and you’ll get wet and chilled through. I don’t believe you’d find that at all comfortable. I came to get the apple pie. I’m going to send it home with the Libertine and his Potential and then lock the door behind them. I would prefer no more interruptions, even from such lovely creatures, while I prepare for our date.”

“Date?”

Parrish pulled Lorne up from the floor and pressed him back against the fridge with a firm, gentle hand.

“Of course a ‘date’ dearheart. It’s my understanding of human behavior that humans require some dating prior to, how did the Libertine word it? Oh yes, putting out. He seemed to think you’d be quite good at it.” Parrish gave a wistful sounding sigh. “I would so like to get to the ‘putting out’ part of our evening. Wouldn’t you?”

Lorne just stared back, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Do you think we could kiss first? Right now I mean.”

“I should like that very much.” 

“Sorry, sorry, but the new fangs...” Lorne drew in a breath. “I don’t know what to do with them. What if I hurt you? This kissing, I haven’t, not really, I’m not…I’m just a little worried, okay?”

For the first time since Lorne had encountered the Tinsdale, Parrish seemed embarrassed.

“We can figure it out, I don’t have experience, either.” Parrish ducked his head, not meeting Lorne’s eyes, and with a nervous flutter of wings, continued. “Because there aren’t many of us destined to cross dimensions to carry out our duties, we’re born knowing our connections. I always knew the Diner was mine to husband; I could feel it from the egg. From the moment we’re hatched, all of the caravan knows our destiny too, and so, we’re treated differently from all the others. 

“We’re not allowed to partake in the exchanges of passion as most Tinsdales do. Truly, it’s no hardship to be reserved for our betrothed. If anything, we are held in respect for the obligations we abide by. And honestly, the casual, rather frequent mating rushes of my kind held no appeal because I knew you were waiting for me.” Parrish looked at Lorne, soft concern in his eyes, “Oh Evan, I am so weary of waiting. Can we have our date now please?”

Lorne drew the Tinsdale down to him until their lips met. They lingered there, sweet, chaste moments of touch that Lorne could feel down to his toes. Parrish was equally affected as his wings unfurled to their full length and quivered in delicate shivers. Lorne couldn’t help wondering how that would feel against his naked skin.

“Okay go. Get the doors locked and start this date thing before you kill me.” Lorne had to force himself to let go of Parrish, had to growl the words out when what he really wanted to do was hold on and rub himself against those soft, warm feathers. “And Parrish, just in case you wondered, I’m a sure thing.”

***

The Tinsdale banned Lorne from the dining room. His excuse? Parrish had preparations to set up and didn’t want to spoil the surprise. 

That’s how Lorne found himself pacing in his room waiting like nervous bride. Evan wasn’t prone to the giggles but it was a near thing; as it was, he knew he was grinning like a loon. He wiped sweaty palms against his thighs, suddenly conscious of the ketchup stained apron he was wearing. Evan decided to make a few preparations of his own. 

Most of his clothes were sensible, casual shirts and jeans, a couple of sweaters. Lorne hadn’t needed much else. He pushed them aside and reached into the back of the closet. 

The navy pinstripe was the most elegant suit Lorne owned. Hell, it was the only suit he’d ever owned. He wouldn’t be in possession of it at all except Radek Zelenka had brought it over to the Diner one night and insisted he buy it. 

A wise man didn’t refuse when Zelenka insisted.

Lorne had stuck it in the back of his closet and forgotten about it. Now, he pulled it out and laid it on the bed. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind this was the right occasion to wear it, or that it would fit like it was tailored to him.

***

Parrish had been a busy, not-so-little, winged creature. Their table was decorated with flowers and candles. Soft violin music played in the background, and an assortment of edibles was spread out on the table. There was something that smelled like chocolate cake but looked like pudding. Champagne stood chilling in its bucket of ice and, of course, there was a big bowl of French fries. Of course. That would be Parrish’s idea of a main entrée. 

All these things were caught on the peripheral edge of Evan’s senses; the only thing he truly had eyes for was the Tinsdale. 

Parrish’s wings nearly glowed with vibrancy. The gray feathers looked silver in the candlelight, fuller and softer than Lorne had ever seen them. He ached to touch them and found he had to curl his fingers into the ball of his hands to keep from reaching out. Thank god, he wouldn’t have to wait much longer.

“Evan, come, sit.” Parrish sighed then, a little sound both wistful and awed. “You’re so much more than I could have wished for in my human. Smart, brave, loyal and very handsome. I must be the luckiest Keeper ever born.”

“I. I don’t have condoms. I mean, I do have condoms but I bought them when I was fifteen and they’ve all expired by now because it’s been years, they can’t be any good and safety is important and…,” Evan clapped a hand over his own mouth. He was mortified that he’d blurted that out and wanted to sink into the floor. 

Parrish just cocked his head and stared at him. “You will have no one else but me and I will have no one else but you. Our joining, when the time is right, will leave no allowances for anything artificial between us. Do you not understand this, Evan Lorne?”

“Yeah, yeah, I guess I do.”

“Good. There, now that that’s settled, I want you to try some of my French fries.” The Tinsdale held a fry up to Evan’s mouth obviously expecting him to eat it from his fingers.

Lorne grinned, leaned forward, and took a bite.

He made it to the second French fry. Then, having enough of waiting, Evan licked at Parrish’s fingers, not bothering to make a pretense of eating from them. He held the Tinsdale’s hand in a solid grip and sucked each of Parrish’s fingers in turn. Hot, wet, and languid, the slow movements of his tongue made Parrish’s hand tremble beneath it. 

The next moments passed in a blur. There were quick, rushing, movements, a flurry of wings, and the wild sensation of his feet leaving the floor. The next thing Lorne knew, he was flat on his back on the bed. The Tinsdale stood over him, furling and unfurling his wings in a stuttered rhythm as though he couldn’t make up his mind what he wanted to do. 

“Tell me what you want, Parrish. Just tell me, I swear you can have it, I’ll – I’ll do anything, just please, just touch me.” Evan moaned in relief as Parrish began to strip him out of his suit. What did it matter if he’d only worn the suit for fifteen minutes? This was what he needed now. He didn’t hold back a thing as warm hands slid under his clothing and every accidental brush of feathers against his skin made him beg for more. 

Finally, stripped down to the last sock, which landed somewhere over Parrish’s shoulder, Evan reached up and pulled Parrish down on top of him. He had a vague plan that he going to touch him everywhere and rub himself all over the Tinsdale’s soft, warm feathers until his desperate hunger was satisfied and then he was going to do it all over again just because he could. He just had to get his hand on Parrish’s cock, had to find out if the feathery down at the base of it was as soft as it looked and he had to do it now. 

Thank god, Parrish understood, or maybe he’d been begging out loud, but it didn’t matter because Parrish arched himself over Lorne’s body, using his wings for balance, and let Evan have what he wanted, and sweet mercy, it was just as soft as he’d imagined. He wanted to bury his face in that soft heat, rub his cheek against Parrish’s cock, and then lavish it with his tongue until the Tinsdale’s taste became part of him.

Only fuck. The fangs. Evan wouldn’t risk it. His frustrated groan was answered by the flutter of feathers as Parrish rolled them over and drew Evan in for a kiss. As chaste as their first kiss had been, this one was equal in its fierceness.

Longing and desire made their claim and Evan forgot about caution. He was lost in the sensation of his Tinsdale as Parrish wrapped him up in his wings and held him close.

Every feather brushing his naked skin was a sensual onslaught. The hot, hard insistence of Parrish’s cock pushing against Evan’s own, equal in need, just made the sensations all the sweeter. He could come like this. Would come like this, but there was something he had to do first. 

Determined to do his duty, he stoked shaking fingers over his Tinsdale’s throat. He oh-so-carefully took a tentative bite. He’d barely broken the skin when Parrish began pushing him away. 

“Silly dearheart, you don’t bite me there; you’re not a vampire and neither am I. Those are mating fangs.”

“If I don’t bite you there…" Evan’s eyes grew wide and his gaze traveled down over the length of the Tinsdale. “You can’t mean…?”

“Here.” Parrish took Evan’s hand and guided it to rest on the left side of his chest. "You bite me here, over my heart. It will leave a marriage mark that will never fade, and serve as proof to everyone of your claim on me.”

Parrish curled his fingers over the back of Evan’s neck and tugged him closer. 

“Please, now, oh dearheart, _please_.” 

He could feel the pulse, and heat, and rhythm, of this mythical creature’s life under his fingertips. Parrish’s heart was laid bare for him to claim and cherish and the wonder of it burned through him. An ancient instinct, written into the DNA of his ancestors, took hold, and without further hesitation, he bit down. A rush of life - of living - filled him, as though he could feel every growing thing rise from the earth to the sunlight all at once. 

He held on as Parrish bowed under him. The Tinsdale’s wings beat against his skin, spreading wide and stretching until they reached their full, glorious, wingspan. They stayed that way for long seconds until, finally, the wings furled back and curled trembling around him. 

Evan ended the bite when he felt the soft fluttering of feathers touch his cheek and he lifted his head to find Parrish staring at him with a shy smile. They were both sticky and spent, and Evan would probably be picking feathers out of god-knows-where for days. He grinned back, the goofy, besotted smile on his face something he had a feeling he’d better get used to because, damn, if this wasn’t the best thing that had ever happened to him. 

***

He could get used to this, lying wrapped in wings with a sleepy Parrish curled around him. Evan was feeling a little smug and a lot contented. The bite mark looked damned good, if he said so himself. His mark. His claim. A twinge of regret marred the moment because he could already feel the fangs ebbing away, their purpose completed. He couldn’t help wondering if they’d return or if he ever need them again. 

Parrish stirred against him.

“Up?”

“Sure. Let’s and get cleaned up get something to eat.” Evan was looking forward to getting Parrish into the shower and spending time cleaning each and every feather. Maybe he could get him back to his usually chatty self. It had come as a surprise to find out ‘sharing passion’ made Parrish revert back to being nearly non-verbal. 

“Fries?”

Lorne burst out laughing. “Yes, fries. All you can eat.” 

Lorne would get up in a minute and tend to his usual duties. He’d tend to the unusual ones too because he was a Diner owner. 

He grinned. Make that co-owner. After all, he did just get married.

 

**Epilogue**

Lorne gathered the pieces of his suit off the floor. He’d found the pants in one corner and the jacket in another. He still had no idea where his boxers had gone. Shaking the vest, in a futile hope of saving it from creasing, a piece of paper fell from its pocket. 

“Hey, Parrish, come look at this. Have you ever seen anything like this before?”

Lorne smoothed the page out and held it under the lamplight, trying to decipher the diagrams written on it. None of the eight designs seemed to have a thing in common. 

“I know what this is, Evan. These are symbols for the Astria Porta, an address if you will. Many times I’ve caught glimpses of constellations like these when traveling through spiral realm, but I have never seen this combination.”

“Wait. This is a what, a destination? A map?”

Parrish tilted his head and hummed in thought. “I don’t know if we can get there from here. Perhaps if we can convince the Libertine to be our time pilot…yes, that could work.”

“Whoa, are you suggesting we take a little trip, destination unknown, possibly dangerous and, for all I know, with no way back?”

“Well, we don’t have to do it right away. There is the Diner after all. We couldn’t just leave it.”

Lorne blew out a sigh of relief. At least, Parrish was beginning to talk some sense. “That’s right; we can’t leave and let the Diner be on its own. Who knows what could happen.”

“Of course, we could get a temporary caretaker.” Parrish narrowed his eyes in thought. “Hmm, what about that nice boy, Chuck?”

~*~


End file.
